Shepherd of souls, Thy sheep behold
In this dark, cloudy day,
The wolf is come into Thy fold,
To scatter, tear, and slay.
His bloody hand th’oppressor shakes
Against the faithful seed,
And havoc of Thy Church he makes—
He makes us as our Head.
Thy narks we in our bodies bear,
But arm us with Thy power,
The rage of fiends and men we dare,
And meet the evil hour.
They only can our bodies kill,
Our souls can never die;
Our souls exist in Jesus still,
And reign above the sky.
Wherefore the utmost sufferings here
Of those who Jesus love,
We count not worthy to compare
With our reward above.
Light are the pains we now endure,
And quickly over-past,
But of the pleasures they secure,
Eternally shall last.
On all th’affliction we look down,
The joy so far exceeds,
So bright, so weighty is the crown
It sets upon your heads.
O what a glorious life shall be
In us, ev’n us revealed,
While face to face our Lord we see,
With all His fullness filled.
Who would not then, for such a hope,
The path of sorrow tread,
And take his master’s burden up,
And suffer with his Head?
Who would not cheerfully sustain
A cross so light as this,
And bear a momentary pain
For an eternal bliss?